


Mr. Terminator

by Legendary5



Category: Zombies Run!
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Pre-Zombie Apocalypse, Rave, Zombie Apocalypse, Zombie Rave, Zombies Write 2016, Zombies Write!, day zero, eugene pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 20:57:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7907440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendary5/pseuds/Legendary5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eugene Woods never believed he’d find love. At least, not at the end of civilization. The story of how Jack and Eugene first met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mr. Terminator

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Your_guilty_pleasure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Your_guilty_pleasure/gifts).



> Hi! So, this is my first fanfic for both the Zombies, Run! fandom, and in... I don't know, a few years? The last time I wrote anything that I published to a fanfiction site was something for Criminal Minds (I'm Nymphadora_CullenBAU on FanFiction), probably before I got my new computer in the summer of 2013.
> 
> Anyway, I wrote this for the Zombies, Write! Part III for Your_guilty_pleasure. I quite literally wrote it at the last second because between rehearsals for the Wizard of Oz (Summer musical I was in), and finishing up my year of service with Americorp, I didn't have a lot of free time. Also, we're in the process of packing up in preparation to move, so I didn't really think I would be able to finish this.

Mr. Terminator

Eugene Woods never believed he’d find love. At least, not at the end of civilization. 

He had lived through a fair number of failed relationships, too many to count it seemed. He had tried to keep them going, but more often than not, his then girlfriend -- or sometimes boyfriend -- at the time would end up walking away. 

He had been in the middle of moping through another breakup that morning when his editor, Terry Burgess, poked his head out of his office. 

“Woods!” He barked. “Come here!” 

Eugene slumped in and took a seat at Terry’s desk. The room itself wasn’t very big, as opposed to its occupant; Terry Burgess was a rather beefy man. A former New Yorker, the man had the body of a barrel, and was about as tall as two of them stacked on top of each other. It was clear that he didn’t do much exercise, smoked a pack a day, and enjoyed expensive Italian food and wine. 

“Another breakup, I take it?” Burgess asked, not bothering with the formalities of small talk. 

Eugene nodded; Dustin had wanted to move to Minneapolis, and had begged Eugene to go with him, despite Eugene’s staunch desire to remain in Canada. 

“Well, I have something that might cheer you up,” Burgess continued, tossing a folder over to Eugene. “Pop up restaurants in London are becoming something of a big deal. I was wondering if you could take a week to investigate. I know you’ve got your passport all set to go, right?”

Looking back on those circumstances and the events that followed, Eugene never imagined that his decision would change his life, in more ways than one. 

….

Day Zero of the zombie outbreak saw Eugene driving out of London; Day Two saw him waking up in a ditch in Hampshire. He had been trying to stay ahead of the outbreak, sleeping in his rental car, praying that his phone would work. A friend of his, Peter Dowling, had a farm near Nottingham that he had often talked about in conversations around the office. If Eugene could get there, he could hole up with Peter and the boys for a few days, until this all blew over. 

Except he hadn’t heard from Peter Dowling and his mates since the invite two days ago. Eugene had put it up to a bad connection and kept heading that way. He turned the key in the ignition, but nothing happened. 

“No…” he breathed, turning it again. The engine revved and died.

“No, no, no… Come on,” he begged, turning it one last time. Still nothing.  
It took Eugene most of the morning to try and get the car started. He had filled it up before leaving London, so he knew the petrol wasn’t to blame; he checked the engine, the tire pressure, everything, but it all looked fine. He finally came to the conclusion that the battery was dead. 

With no other choice open to him, Eugene gave it up as a lost cause; he grabbed a backpack from his car, filled it with some clothes, the food he’d brought with him and a few bottles of water, and continued his journey on foot through the forest. 

It was a few minutes later when he found himself approaching the field; rave music was playing loudly from speakers set up by a generator, but the shapes Eugene saw were not humans having a party. There were still a few young kids fighting a few shamblers off on the stage, but for the most part, the entire rave was zombified. 

Eugene continued his path through the woods, treading carefully so as not to draw attention to himself. Up ahead, he could see a pile of what looked like rags; it even smelled awful, as though someone had died. In the clearing, the sound system bleated a long, high note of feedback, and Eugene stumbled into the rags, landing right on top of it. It moved, groaning. 

Eugene rolled away and grabbed his weapon, preparing himself to fight, when a sleepy voice came from the rags.

“Is the party over?” 

The “rags” turned out to be a stinky, disheveled, and thin man around Eugene’s age with bright red hair, clutching a cricket bat. He gazed blearily up at Eugene, realizing there was another person there, and realizing that this person was clearly not a zombie. 

Thinking quickly, Eugene reached out his hand. 

“Come with me if you wanna live,” he whispered urgently; the other man took the proffered hand without a second thought as Eugene pulled him to his feet. Together, the two of them started a half-run, half shamble through the forest. 

They were rapidly losing daylight, but the two men managed to get away from the field of zombies without too much trouble; Eugene noted that his new traveling companion kept a firm grip on his cricket bat and, despite the weary look on his face, managed to stay awake and alert as they ran. 

When they had finally fled far enough away, out of earshot of the rave music, Eugene released the hand he hadn’t realized he was still holding. The other man collapsed at the base of a tree, panting with… laughter?

“The whole wide world of apocalypse humor,” the red haired man noted dryly, chortling with laughter. “The whole world, I’m telling you… And you go with Terminator?”

“It seemed appropriate,” Eugene defended. “Plus, it’s true. Those zombies would've taken you out if I hadn't been there.”

The other man nodded. 

“I suppose it is,” he admitted, shifting his cricket bat under his arm. “So, Mr. Termintor, what’s your name?” 

“I’m Eugene Woods,” Eugene replied. “You can call me Eugene. Or Gene. Not Mr. Terminator.”

“Jack,” said the other. “Jack Holden.” He glanced back. “But seriously, was the party over?” 

“Looked that way,” Eugene replied, also looking back. “Everyone there was pretty much a zombie.” 

“Shame,” Jack replied. “It was quite the party, Mr. Terminator. Robbie Bradshaw was planning this whole Woodstock-like rave thing to last us the whole week.” 

Eugene felt a smile creep up onto his face. 

“Let’s keep moving, shall we?” he asked. “And don’t call me Mr. Terminator.”

“All right, Eugene it is. Or Gene,” Jack chuckled; Eugene noticed a smile on his face to match his own. “You know, this could be the start of a beautiful relationship.”


End file.
